燕子从来不斜视,也从来不眯缝着眼睛、蹙额地看人。他那双黑色的小眼睛总是直瞪着。所以,人们猜摸不透他在想些什么。七月里,一个闷热的夜晚,室内已经无法入睡,我便搬到顶楼上来了。我踩着摇摇晃晃的云杉木梯爬上了顶楼的圆木地板,把一捆捆隔年的厚实的亚麻在角落里摊开,在昏暗中愉快地躺在地铺上了。遥远的天际一阵雷声,炙热的夏季夜晚充塞了剧烈的连绵的轰响。从远处传来的减弱无力的雷声,遇到殷勤的干燥的屋顶,又活跃起 Swallows have never been strabismus, and never narrowed their eyes on the amount of money to see people. His little black eyes always stared. So people can not guess what he’s thinking. July, a sultry night, the room can not sleep, I moved to the top floor. I stepped on the wobbling spruce stairs and climbed up the log floor on the top floor, spread a bundle of thick linen in the corners of the year, laying happily in the darkness. A distant thunder and thunder, the hot summer night stuffed by a dramatic rolling roar. Weakening thunder from afar, met the dry roof, and active again